9. Jillian
NINE
Jillian
I twist my hair into a high bun and shut off the tap, watching as the bath bomb fizzes and dissolves, sending trails of pink and purple swirling through the water. The rich scent of roses and lavender fills the small space, instantly soothing me. A glass of wine waits on the small table next to the tub. I set my phone on it and make sure the towel is within reach. I slide into the hot water, sinking down until it rises to my shoulders. My skin tingles as I settle, warmth seeping in, melting away the tension of the day.
A small part of me wonders what inspired me to do this tonight. A bath, a glass of wine—things I never do. But here I am, luxuriating, allowing myself a rare moment to simply unwind, to pause, and let the world blur away. There’s something peaceful, something freeing, about this quiet surrender. It’s like my body is urging me to lean into these small joys, to open myself up to moments of calm, of pleasure. And why shouldn’t I?
Closing my eyes, I can’t help but replay the events of the day, and, inevitably, my mind drifts to Elliott. I can still see his face, his serious gaze softening as he looked at Jamie, his expression so gentle and protective. And then that fierce look he gave Brock—a solid, unwavering wall between me and everything Brock represents. He stepped in for us. I’m surprised by the way my heart skips at the memory. He made it clear to Brock that I’m off-limits, and to me, that I don’t have to handle everything alone.
And then, of course, there was his talk of his “dates.” My stomach twists a little, wondering how many women he’s gone out with, women who are probably a lot less complicated than me. Women without a kid, without the kind of grief I carry. With his movie-star good looks, his charm, why would he settle down with someone like me? Still, despite myself, a small flicker of excitement flares at the thought of seeing him again, of the baking class, of sharing something light and fun.
Would he be there? The question bubbles up before I can stop it, and I almost laugh at myself. But that flicker of excitement stirs again, refusing to be snuffed out. When was the last time I felt this—a flutter, the beginning of something warm and alive, something that feels a little like hope?
I shift in the water, sinking lower as the bath’s warmth settles into me, the tension unwinding from my muscles, the calm enveloping me. For the first time in what feels like years, I let myself entertain the possibility—just the possibility—of something more. Maybe Elliott isn’t another roadblock, another frustration, but someone who wants to be here, with us, however messy and imperfect that may be.
It’s ridiculous, really. I already had my forever. I had it with CJ, and it was ripped away. What are the odds of finding that again? But the thought of it, the tiniest spark of what-if , is enough to make my chest flutter. What if I allow myself to let this feeling grow, just a little?
I reach for the glass of wine and take a sip, savoring the rare indulgence, letting it warm me from the inside. A small smile tugs at my lips as I imagine Elliott standing in that baking class, sleeves rolled up, laughing with Jamie.
My phone pings. I dry my hands and grab it. A text message from Elliott.
I tap my phone to open the app and read it.
Elliott: Morning person or night owl?
“Huh?” Why is he asking me this? I ignore his message and text Sheila instead.
Jillian: Elliott just texted me asking if I’m a morning person or a night owl. What do I do?
Sheila: Duh. Answer him.
Jillian: Why is he asking me this?
Sheila: To get to know you better. Answer. There’s no harm in it.
Jillian: Ugh. Okay. Bye.
Sheila: If he sends you a dick pic, I want to see it.
I nearly drop the phone in the water.
Jillian: Stop it!
Sheila:
I take a deep breath and switch to Elliott’s message.
Jillian: Night owl, but Jamie keeps me on a morning schedule. You?
Elliott: Morning person. I’ll try not to judge.
Elliott: Good night, Jillian.
Jillian: Good night.
As the bath water cools, I catch myself smiling. Sheila is right. There’s no harm in a few text messages.
I tuck myself under the blanket with Jamie. The book is already in his hands, open to the correct page. We look at the colors, pinks, yellows, and blues. The painting of a playground. A little girl fallen on the grass and a boy extending a hand to help her up.
I read for Jamie. “CJ’s heart told him to keep an eye on the girl in the purple dress. He worried the bully might try to be mean to her. And sure enough, when she climbed up the ladder to the slide, the bully showed up.”
Jamie’s face scrunches as he narrows his gaze on the bully.
“The bully pulled her ponytail and pushed her off so he could go down the slide before her.”
The memory of that day rushes in.
Me on the ground. Wood chips poking at my legs, the sting of tears I tried to hold back. And CJ, a smile on his face, his too-long hair like a golden halo in the sun. Even at that young age, kindness was his default mode. Except when it came to bullies. He never tolerated them.
“The girl in the purple dress was very brave. She didn’t cry, even though it must have hurt. CJ rushed over. He helped her stand up and made sure she was okay. Then he turned to the bully and said ‘That wasn’t nice. You should be kinder.’ But the bully just laughed. Bullies often do.”
I kiss the top of Jamie’s head, and he snuggles closer to me. His small body curled against mine, the scent of baby shampoo still lingering. I inhale and a million memories surface.
Finding out I was pregnant and telling CJ and him dancing around the room, twirling me and laughing.
How he cuddled me and kissed my belly and talked to the growing life inside me, telling our future baby how much he was already loved.
The day Jamie was born and how CJ cared for both of us. Half protective wolf, half papa bear, with so much love and fierce devotion.
I push the memories away. Keep reading.
“CJ didn’t like bullies. He also didn’t like the way the bully treated the girl in the purple dress. It didn’t matter that the bully was in third grade and CJ being in first grade was much smaller. He had to help her.
“And then CJ had an idea. He wasn’t sure it would work, but he thought it just might.”
Jamie turns the page.
“When someone kicked a ball past the slide, CJ bent down at the bottom of the slide to pick it up. He stayed there just long enough for the bully to come speeding down the slide.
“And when he did—CRASH! The bully’s face bumped right into CJ’s elbow! Oh no! What a terrible accident! (Wink, wink.)”
Jamie giggles in silence, his little shoulders shaking with mirth when he looks at me, his eyes dancing. He taps the book and I turn the page.
“The bully cried and cried, and everyone on the playground turned to look. From that day on, the bully didn’t bother anyone again. And as for CJ and the girl in the purple dress? They became the best of friends. Because that’s what happens when you listen to your heart.”
I ruffle his hair. “Do you want to keep going?”
He shakes his head.
I kiss the top of his head again, get up, and tuck the covers around him. “Good night, Jamie. I love you.”
I turn off the light and exit his room, leaving the door ajar. My heart breaks all over again as my child quietly goes to sleep.